


Diversion

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, PWP, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Meludir’s too cute to resist, even in the midst of other duties.





	Diversion

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for Aurawolfgirl200’s “40. “You’re so fucking adorable.” Thranduil/Meludir, smut” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s only a blur in the corner of his vision, but it’s enough. Thranduil grinds to a halt, lifting his hand, and it abruptly ends the hunt—his guards drop like leaves from the trees, landing gracefully on the forest floor all around him. Obedient to the end, they wait for his word. The spiders rush on before them, but it will take several minutes more than Thranduil plans to spend for them to be beyond tracking. Turning on his heel, Thranduil marches straight for one guard in particular. 

All of them are immaculate. The rush through the woods hasn’t marred a single set of armour, tossed a single hair out of place, but for one exception: Meludir stands in the middle, sticking sorely out in his disheveled uniform. His hair is a tangled mess, full of little sticks and twisted leaves. Clearly, he’s taken a spill. Thranduil stalks directly towards him, so close that Meludir leans subtly back. Meludir’s plush lips are drawn closed, his eyes wide but deliberately averted. To the rest of them, Thranduil hisses, “Leave us.”

His guards pull to life again. Tauriel now left in charge, they follow her onwards, gone in a flash. Thranduil is left in the small clearing with the one lone guard, who murmurs quietly, “My king...?”

Thranduil growls by way of explanation, “You are horribly adorable.” Meludir’s cheeks flush, his mouth twitching into a smile. He doesn’t have time for anything else—Thranduil fists a sudden fist in his honey hair and jerks him forward. Meludir’s startled squeal is lost in his mouth. Meludir has to stand on his tiptoes for them to connect, but Thranduil holds him up, and Meludir eagerly strains into it. Heedless of the single fleck of dirt smeared along Meludir’s fair cheek, Thranduil shoves his tongue into Meludir’s mouth and cleans the inside. Meludir moans instantly around him. Thranduil fills him up.

As soon as Thranduil pulls back, just enough to pick the best tree to back Meludir against, Meludir gasps, “My king, please...?” Thranduil takes the first step, and Meludir obliging follows, moving backwards without looking, eyes fixed on Thranduil’s face. He seems already too incoherent to finish the question, but Thranduil knows what he wants. Thranduil knows what _all_ his subjects want.

He bids, “You may touch me,” and Meludir makes a delighted noise, hands rising to Thranduil’s far broader shoulders. Thranduil backs Meludir right into a thick trunk and shifts his hands down to Meludir’s hips. He dips under the armour to squeeze the supple flesh through Meludir’s tights. Meludir gasps and doesn’t need to be told; he leaps right into Thranduil’s arms. 

It’s easy to pin Meludir in place with only his own weight. Meludir is light, young and pliant, and very, very eager. Even with his knees now clinging tight to Thranduil’s sides, he seems to parts his thighs as wide as he can. Thranduil makes short work of rolling up his tights enough to leave his exposed rear, and Meludir threads his fingers through Thranduil’s hair and nuzzles into Thranduil’s mouth while he waits. His breath is sugar-sweet, flecked with hints of wine, just the way Thranduil likes. He mewls when Thranduil rubs a hand between his legs, fingers still clad in cold armour, but it’s simple enough to judge how much give is there. A quick glance down their bodies confirms what he already knew, but Meludir moans anyway, “I am wet for you, my king...” It’s absurd how _cute_ he looks while he whimpers such wanton promises. Thranduil never doubted his interest.

Thranduil covers his mouth again and withdraws. It takes Thranduil barely a second to unclasp his own belt and part his armour, rolling down his trousers just enough to take out his shaft—he’s equally ready. The hunt always makes him somewhat stiff, and the moment he knew what he would do to his most loyal servant, he became all the harder. Now the smell and taste of Meludir has him aching with need. He presses against Meludir’s soft folds, rubbing his tip up and down to ready it, but Meludir begs impatiently, “Please, please...”

Thranduil gives him what he wants, thrusting in. Even that first push of just the head is exquisite. Meludir cries out, arching forward, arms locking tightly around Thranduil’s strong neck. Thranduil merely grits his teeth and sets to work, pushing lightly forward and pulling back again, waiting to sink all the way inside. He doesn’t intend to spend long on this, not while his people are still fighting, but if he’s going to be swift, he’ll at least be deep. Meludir seems to have no complaints. 

Meludir stills wails deliciously on every thrust, his body clenching and sucking at Thranduil’s cock. Thranduil knows very well how much Meludir likes to be filled this way, or any way his king will have him. On the final push, he sobs a broken form of Thranduil’s given name into Thranduil’s shoulder, and then Thranduil stills, pausing to just enjoy the languid feeling of being fully seated. It’s dizzyingly _good_. He can feel Meludir trembling around him, and when he’s drunk in that first glorious second, he hisses, “Pleasure me.”

Meludir gives a staccato nod and obeys. He clenches tighter, squeezing for all he’s worth, every perfect muscle rippling around Thranduil’s girth. After the first long wave, Meludir repeats the movement, faster and faster, wildly dilating. It would be easy enough to sit back and let Meludir do the rest, have Meludir ride him and bring him to completion. But Thranduil never lasts long that way—he needs to claim his own victory.

He slams forward suddenly, slamming Meludir into the tree, and Meludir gives a startled cry before Thranduil jerks back to repeat the movement. Fingers digging familiar grooves into Meludir’s soft rear, he pounds into Meludir again and again. The rhythm is fast, merciless, but Meludir wails in delirious joy and clings all the tighter to him for it. When Thranduil desires more, he guides Meludir’s mouth back to his and plunders it in tandem. Meludir feels wondrous on both ends. 

Meludir is beautiful and wholly dutiful, doing everything Thranduil likes, just the way he likes it, and looking absolutely delectable in between. Thranduil rushes fast towards his own end; Meludir’s orgasm is merely a byproduct. Younger and less experienced, Meludir bursts first regardless, screaming into Thranduil’s mouth and gushing around his cock. Thranduil can feel the sudden frenzy of tremours, and he only pounds harder into it, milking out every delicious end. Meludir is a mess around him. When Thranduil finally parts their mouths, Meludir is a gasping, panting wreck, limp as a doll. 

Thranduil pounds into him anyway. Each thrust bounces Meludir’s slender frame, and Meludir giddily takes it, eyes clouded over and face lax in bliss. When it’s Thranduil’s turn to finish, he comes with a torrential roar, and he consumes Meludir’s mouth again while he slams his seed deep inside Meludir’s stifling channel. 

He kisses Meludir the entire way through, not wanting to draw attention to their fevered cries. He’s equally as thorough in pounding his seed into Meludir’s obliging body; he doesn’t need it trickling distractingly down Meludir’s thighs in the midst of a hunt. He finishes to the very last drop, and then he takes Meludir’s chin in hand and parts them. Meludir whines and squirms forward, but Thranduil holds him still. Thranduil draws out with a slick squelching noise, and when he steps away from the tree and unhooks Meludir’s legs from him, Meludir slides right down onto the roots.

He sits there, legs spread and chest heaving, looking up at Thranduil in grateful reverence. Thranduil can’t help his self-indulgent smirk. He’d only meant to satiate himself, but impressing an already devoted lover is always fun. Thranduil finds it lightening his tone as he chides, “You must take better care of yourself if you wish to remain in my guard. You have clearly tripped along the way, something that should be beyond my graceful warriors, and I do not appreciate being tempted mid-mission.”

“Yes, my king,” Meludir hazily agrees. For a moment, Thranduil lets him sit there, looking thoroughly ravished and every bit worth ravishing again. Somehow, even slick with sweat and reeking of sex, he’s more adorable than ever. It’s a wonder any of the guards get anything done with him around. 

When Thranduil barks, “Rise,” Meludir scrambles to obey. He quickly totters to his feet, only to be pulled forward, and Thranduil rolls up his tights and tugs his armour into place. Then Thranduil points towards the trail they were following. As Meludir steps towards it, Thranduil slaps his ass, enjoying the sudden yelp and the hunger that flickers back across Meludir’s eyes. No doubt, he could go again, as many times as his king wished, but alas, there are other deeds to be done. Thranduil orders, “Join the others.”

Meludir bows and hurries to obey, while Thranduil, thoroughly satisfied, takes up the rear.


End file.
